


About to Burn Down

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charon can't refuse her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About to Burn Down

From the balcony, Charon can see the crater that used to be Megaton. He tries to focus on the copy of Dean's Electronics he's got laid across his lap, tries not to look up at it. The sight of it still hurts his eyes, weeks after Rita detonated the bomb. He tries not to look at her too often, either, because he can't think about her without thinking about how much he wants to hurt her.

It'd be easy to kill her--she's small and frail. He could unload his shotgun into her back or crush her windpipe. He could abandon her in the Wastes, leave her at the mercy of the Raiders and Super Mutants. He could drown her in the Potomac or push her off a cliff, leave her body for the dogs. He could turn her over to the escaped slaves in the Temple of the Union. He could contact the Regulators, let them know she'd moved into Tenpenny Towers, and tell them how to get past the guards and into her suite.

There are a hundred things he _could_ do. But he can't do anything while she holds his contract.

Rita deserves to die. Three Dog calls her the Scourge of Humanity. Charon would amend the statement to include ghouls, mutants, and dogs. She's a selfish bitch, and any goodness in her died along with her dad. And he can't even bring himself to feel sorry for her loss, because whenever she feels his judgment, she'll sound off with some weak justification. She's just a kid. She can never go back to her childhood home. She's all alone in the world.

It's all bullshit. She's not a good person, and he's not interested in hearing her excuses. She's got a black pit where her heart ought to be, and the entire Wasteland will be better off once she's gone.

He turns a page in Dean's Electronics, then counts how many left until the end of the chapter. The text is dense, esoteric. He can't focus on the words, not with the ruins of Megaton looming on the horizon. Exactly one survivor out of a town of 200 men, women, and children. Moira Brown, eccentric at large, now ghoulified and living in the Underworld. According to Dr. Barrows, she's doing about as well as could be expected. She doesn't sleep much, and when she does, she mutters and cries out in her sleep.

She's still writing her Wasteland Survival Guide. Rita's researching for her, and Charon doesn't know why. Anyone else, and he'd say it was guilt. But with Rita, he's not so sure. Seems to him that it's another way for her to be cruel, to protract her unkindness and draw it out, like needles across flesh. Twist the knife.

The last time they stopped in the Underworld, Moira gave him a copy of Dean's Electronics. She lost her books in the explosion (she calls it the 'accident,' can't bring herself to acknowledge that it was anything but), and she somehow ended up with two. She gave him his spare and bookmarked a few chapters for him, highlighted diagrams of vacuum tubes and transistors. He couldn't make sense of it (the book _or_ her kindness), but he was determined to finish it before Rita took him back to the Underworld.

"Charon."

Her voice drifts through the air like smoke on the wind and he ignores her. It's August, the air is dark and close, and she told him to leave the door open when he went out to sit on the balcony.

" _Charon_." The second time she says his name, he has no option but to respond. He can't disobey her, so he takes as long as he can, marking his place in the book and setting it gently on the ground besides the chair, pausing to rub at a spot on the tattered dust jacket.

The suite is dim, even in the middle of the afternoon. Rita's stretched out on her heart-shaped bed, naked from the waist up. Charon looks at her for an instant, just long enough to get an impression of her full breasts and big, dark nipples. He looks away to preserve her modesty and his dignity, but she won't let him off the hook so easily.

"Charon, refill my glass."

There's a pitcher of sweet tea on the dresser, what she calls a 'traditional Southern beverage.' Rita likes it with grenadine (she pinched a bottle from the Federalist Lounge), so sweet it makes Charon's teeth ache. The pitcher is slick with condensation, resting on a silver platter to spare the dresser's dark finish. Charon refills her glass and moves automatically towards the balcony door, but she's not finished with him yet.

"Rub my back."

Charon's mouth goes dry. This isn't the first time she's done this, drawn him into her room, confronted him with her nakedness. Her power over him goes deeper than the contract, and she knows it.

"I've got a little bottle of baby oil in my lingerie drawer." Rita props herself up on her elbows, pats the a spot on the bed next to her, her breasts jiggling with the motion.

The baby oil is nestled amongst her panties and bras, half-hidden by filmy scraps of lace and silk. She collects these things; negligees and silk stockings, keeps them clean and sweet smelling with sachets and potpourri. Charon isn't sure if she had these things in the Vault, or if she just felt as though she deserves them-either way, she's ruined lingerie for him. He can't enjoy pin-ups any more, because he can't look at pictures of pretty girls in lacy bras and satin panties without seeing Rita's face.

He dots his palms with baby oil, and massages it into her shoulders. She's tense, but she melts like butter beneath his hands, and his dick perks up at the little moan she gives when he starts working at the knots in her lower back.

She's beautiful and he's aching for her and he doesn't want to want her as bad as he does.

He thinks about blowing her head off and settling down in the Underworld. He thinks about Moira, about the book he left out on the balcony and the chapter on diodes. He fills his mind with currents and voltages, tries to block out every thought of the woman stretched out beneath his hands.

Rita rolls over. He pulls his hands away like he's been burned, but she catches him by the wrists and puts his hands on her breasts. "Charon."

It's not a command, but he obeys anyway, hating himself for it. He massages her and her dark nipples stiffen beneath his touch, and she moans, ever so slightly, tipping her head back and exposing her throat.

He has a straight razor tucked in his boot. He could end it, right now-

"Kiss me," she says, her voice dizzy and breathless.

He can't disobey her.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a shortage in the blood supply  
> But there is no shortage of blood  
> The way I feel about you, baby, can't explain it  
> You got the best of my love
> 
> ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VvZWjPSY80))


End file.
